Episode 2 . the chords.
...continued.
He let his hands fall to his sides; his eyes followed them down and stayed there, reluctant to look up. And as he waited, the rustles outside grew louder,
12...11...the click of the lock...10...9...8...7...the footsteps down the foyer
...6...5...the clink of the keys in the ‘key-urn’... and like with an audiotape that’s been played one too many times, he knew exactly what was coming next
...4...3... a deep breathe and the finishing touch to set the scene.
He jerked his head upright, almost as if physically extracting a smile from the coffers of pretense.
...2...breathe...
...1...smile
.
“Raghav! It IS lasagna!” how did you know! I’ve been having some serious cheese cravings ever since I wound up thefedder pitch today evening. You know how I hate their products, but this time they got, at least, the texture right... So we’re not completely faking the ad, thank god for that... ... ... ...”
Oh that again! Raghav phased out; He usually managed to keep a face of serious intent throughout the ramblings but today, well, today his mind was elsewhere.
... They were sitting on the old book shelf in the basement. It had rained for the first time in 5 whole months and hadn’t stopped for the last 3 days. Itwasn’t a cozy corner; far from it, it was the most uncomfortable piece of 'furniture' in the entire house, but they were both in love with it, in the weird basement with a weird window, just a long strip of plain glass ventilator that ran under the ceiling line and it opened out on to street level. From the 'vantage point' atop the old shelf you could see people walking outside, feet mostly, a few wheels every now and then, but the best part was that nobody could see in from the outside,
They both loved to watch the world go by, while they were inside, safe, enclosed, in the womb of the world they’d created, purist voyeurism, if such a term applied.
the room bore witness to their lives, to who they were...
Where make-believe became life and life became real.
...it all laid waiting for them to climb down those stairs. the walls, a collage of iridescent memories. Piece by piece, keepsakes, photographs, gifts, assorted knick-knacks; Little Notes of happiness, sorrow, anger, bliss, resentment, trust, hope and love tucked in between their myriad overtures of love to each other;
that picture taken in Philippines, the white beach, where blissfully naked they’d celebrated each other... the chords of the first song written for him, scattered poetry and ornate words, all overlaid with abstract scraps of art... as if the paint and the words had oozed out of the wall itself.
He flushed when he saw the broken jar on the abnormally wide skirting. How worthless it was when compared to what it saw that day! Trapped indoors for 4 days by incessant rains was as close to heaven as could be...
and with a start he realized he needed to take them away; before it all began to unfold, he had to take everything down from those walls. There was no time.
The thought filled him with sheer terror and uncharacteristically cutting into the monologue he said, “Why don’t you go get us some cake fudge and not the crumbly kind, I want the real deal... Please, would you?” His voice held a shade of desperation, which would have been caught immediately, if not for the irritation at having been cut short. Raghav pleaded again, “Go now, Ok, get some fudge and be back soon. I’ll lay the table by then.” That smile again; to smooth the wrinkles over.
His words received an affirmative nod, albeit a slightly crossed eyed one.
...receding steps, the familiar click of the lock...
He crept up to the door, turned the internal catch into place and rushed towards the stairs, but at the top of them, stopped again.
It wasn’t going to be easy; the move to dismantle their entire existence, to negate all proof, to remove every trace of what was, not much unlike an acid wash.
No, it wasn’t going to be easy. What would be easy however, would be giving in, to let the tears flow. At least then he wouldn’t feel so damn claustrophobic, like being inside an hourglass; the sands of sweet memories threatening to bury him, if he didn’t find the strength to stand up firm.
It wasn’t easy, not this, and neither what was to follow,
However, an acid wash doesn’t take too much time.
Before long he was back in the kitchen, this time, wiping the dinner plates to take out to the table.
...a few minutes, the screech of tires...
The familiar click-clink didn’t follow; instead he heard a muffled hammering on the door.It froze him with dread and dismay, and a dozen possibilities began to process but almost immediately he realized that he had locked the door from the inside.He hurried out, opened the door and broke into explanation before any questions could be asked. The excuses, however, were met with confusion and silence which soon gave way to amusement at Raghav’s disquiet.
With a silent sigh of relief, and yet again the smile, he led the way to the table.
continued...
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